


The Salve of Templed Sorrow

by voleuse



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-16
Updated: 2008-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Two breaths backward, one word upward.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Salve of Templed Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 4.17. Title, summary, and headings adapted from Wendy Videlock's _North of Mist_.

_under the kiss  
of shadow's daughter_

 

Callie had never kissed a woman before, or at least in the way she thought it counted. Practicing French kissing in high school, or showing off, half-drunk, in clubs--those didn't count. She didn't count them. They were experiments and rites of passage, things she filed away and never thought about again. They didn't matter.

Erica tasted like Carmex and fennel toothpaste and coffee. It wasn't anything Callie would have considered sexy, and she still didn't, but then Erica's fingers laced through her hair, and none of that really mattered.

She took a breath, backed off for just a moment, and thought about the footsteps on the pavement next to them. A faint gasp, a familiar giggle. She thought about the bright lamplight above them, and the cars driving past. She started to panic, she started to pull away.

Erica leaned forward and kissed her, her thumb ghosting across Callie's jaw.

Callie pressed her eyes shut, and she stopped thinking.

_past the rumpled  
terra cotta_

 

Callie stared at the chart, tried to remember the beginning of the sentence she wanted to write. Instead, she kept hearing those asshole kids in the lobby, and she was halfway ready to call security on them when Sloan chuckled into her ear.

"Having trouble concentrating?" he murmured. His breath was hot against her neck, and she closed her eyes, remembered how it felt elsewhere. "I don't blame you. I keep thinking about her, too." His palm eased against her hip.

She leaned back, even as she shook her head. "Her?" In the lobby, somebody smacked a hand against the wall. Callie opened her eyes. "I hate children."

He laughed again, and then he was backing away, and she swayed forward to compensate.

"Hey--" she started, turning on her heel.

He shook his head, clucked his tongue. "Work to do, Torres." He smirked and lifted his hands toward her, palms up. "An artist's work is never done."

"Asshole," she muttered.

In the lobby, the kids were telling jokes.

_up the scales  
of Bach, and Buddha_

 

After Cristina disappeared into her bedroom, Erica set her glass on the coffee table and slid down her chair, slithering to the floor. "I don't know how you deal with her."

Callie watched her stretch, smiling. "She's not so bad," she said. "Aside from the begging."

Erica twisted around, then tipped her head back. Her hair brushed against Callie's knee. "I do love it when they beg," she said, drawing out her words like taffy. Callie couldn't see her eyes, but her smile was slow.

"You do?" Callie put the glass to her lips, tilted it until the she could barely taste the wine. She let it swirl against her lips for a moment, then pulled back and grinned. "I bet Sloan would like to know that."

Erica's smile flickered away, then returned. She raised her arm in a graceful arch and plucked the glass from Callie's hand. "He'd like to know a lot of things."

Callie let her laugh echo in the room, and then the real teasing began.

_one part liar,  
one part seer_

 

Late on a Sunday morning, Addison called for absolutely no reason except to say hello. At least, that was what she claimed when Callie picked up the phone after fumbling under the covers for seventeen seconds, finally knocking the receiver over.

"Also," Addison noted once Callie had the phone properly against her ear, "I live in Los Angeles now. That word you just used is ridiculously vulgar."

Callie raised her head, dislodging a misshapen pillow. "You sound like my grandmother."

Addison snorted. "Sleeping in today?"

Callie rubbed her eyes, thumping her elbow against the sofa cushions. "Long night."

"Really?" Addison drawled. "Should I break out the margaritas?"

Callie laughed. "I had drinks with Erica Hahn."

"Ah," Addison said. "Networking?"

"Something like that." Callie yawned. "So tell me the real reason why you called."

And Addison began a long story about two men who sounded kind of interchangeable to Callie, but it was Addison on the phone, so she focused, and put all thoughts of another long night out of her head.

_one part lyric,  
one part scholar_

 

At the end of the day, Erica Hahn cornered Callie in the elevator, and Callie was only half-surprised.

"Listen," Erica started, as if they had had a conversation interrupted just a moment ago, "I don't know if you have any plans tonight, but there's a film festival opening tonight, and I happen to have an extra pass."

Callie tucked her hands into her pockets. "A film festival?"

"Yes." Erica's mouth twisted into something like a smile. "It's independent and pretentious, but the movies are good, and the wine is better."

Callie raised her eyebrows. "I've always been more of a Red Vines and popcorn sort of girl."

"They have that, too," Erica said. "And cocktails."

"I hope these aren't action movies, then," Callie responded. "I'd hate to get motion sickness."

"Really?" Erica looked her up and down. "You seem like the type to drink me under the table."

Callie couldn't stop her laughter, and she found herself nodding, despite her reservations.

Erica smiled, a genuine smile. "Is that a yes?"

"Yeah." Callie said. "It's a date."

Erica looked at her sidelong, and laughed.

_one part illness,  
one part healer_

 

Callie knew Doctor Hahn by reputation more than sight, so when she walked into the lounge and discovered her draped over a bank of chairs, it was a surprise.

"Doctor Torres, right?" Hahn's gaze was sharp, gliding over Callie like a surgical checklist. "I've heard good things about you."

"Likewise." Callie stripped her coat off, shoved it into her locker. "We usually use the on-call room for naps, Doctor Hahn."

"The plastic surgeon--Sloan, right?" She waited for Callie's nod, then continued. "One of the nurses has him plastered against the door."

"Ah." Callie pulled a sweater over her head to distract herself from the image.

"I'd rather not consider the condition of the sheets," Hahn confessed.

"You get used to it," Callie assured her. "And you sleep on the top bunk."

Hahn laughed, and it was a brighter sound than Callie expected. "Good to know."

"We're here to serve," Callie quipped. She clipped her pager to the pocket of her jeans. "Have a good night, Doctor Hahn."

"The same to you," Hahn said, and Callie turned her head to smile as she left the room.


End file.
